Chapter 2

It was already late at night by the time they returned to the SK Base.

Yun Qi followed closely behind the team as they piled out of the vehicle. The other SK members were buzzing with excitement, and even the coach couldn’t hide his elation. Before they disembarked, he issued a string of reminders. “Don’t slack off, no matter what. Keep up the training. Winning the match is great, but don’t get cocky. Our opponents are no pushovers. Stay sharp, everyone—Yueqiu’s keeping an eye on you.”

Yueqiu, their assistant in charge of overseeing training and rest schedules, gave the coach repeated assurances before sending the group on their way.

As they headed into the base, Yueqiu carried out his duties with his usual diligence. “Once you’re back in your rooms, hop online and reply to the fans. All their hopes are riding on us now. Don’t take them for granted—interact a little, rack up some followers while you’re at it. Everyone clear?”

“Brother Qiu, how much do I gotta do? I’m wiped out. Just wanna crash.” It was their mid laner mage speaking. He’d carried the game hard, pumping out forty percent of the team’s damage, which gave him ample leverage to push back against the coach and assistant.

“Eyeball it yourself. Building your personal brand is a win for you too.”

“What personal brand? I’m not like Yun Qi, swimming in that influencer pool. Traffic games aren’t my thing.”

“That’s exactly why you gotta amp up the enthusiasm. Post more on socials, pull in fans. Nail down your persona—who’s gonna stan a gloomy vibe?”

“I’m not some idol star.”

“I’ve drilled this into you a hundred times: Pro gamers are products. You’ve gotta have market value.”

Up ahead, Yueqiu was schooling the mid laner at full volume, his words carrying to the whole group. Yun Qi brought up the rear, absorbing every syllable. To the youth trainees, he was the elite support anchoring the first team’s starting roster. But to his core-position teammates, he was nothing more than a face-streamer peddling his looks for views.

The rift inside SK was no longer just tabloid fodder.

Supports were fungible anyway. Yun Qi had snagged a starting spot solely on his insane traffic pull—one guy outdrawing the other four combined. No exaggeration there. That was why the coach refused to bench him from the first team.

Pro gamers were products.

Once back at the base, Yueqiu rounded everyone up for a quick debrief—standard reminders and training updates. With the late hour and general exhaustion, he cut it short and let them scatter. Alone in not heading straight to bed, Yun Qi made for the training room.

The starters’ training room stood apart from the rest, boasting superior space, setup, and hardware. Staff cleaned it daily, leaving desks and rigs immaculate. Yun Qi dropped into his seat, fired up his PC, and dove into reviewing the day’s match.

Mid-review, he launched his stream. The base slotted him as a looks streamer, mandating a session every three days—two hours minimum. His fanbase shelled out for the face alone, so going silent on mic was no issue.

Yun Qi zeroed in on the replay, tuning out the chat barrage. His bullet screen was a warzone already, and SK’s regional title clinch had spiked traffic several-fold.

[Baby!!!]

[Dying over here wuwuwu, finally live!]

[Qi Qi Baby, whatcha up to? Eyes on the cam, mama needs her fix]

[Baby’s so yummy, milky, gorgeous!]

[Shush, Baby’s in think mode]

Yun Qi flicked a glance at the flood. His face—flawless even from off-angles—dominated the feed. He murmured by way of explanation, “Reviewing tonight’s match. Bear with me a sec.”

[Baby’s such a grinder!]

[SK smashed it! Live at the venue tonight, Baby killed it! So milky and cute—keep grinding!]

[God, pure desire vibes every time. Qi Qi’s face is peak art]

Yun Qi scrubbed back through key moments in the footage, looping details repeatedly. Post-game analysis was pro gamer gospel. Protocol said wait for tomorrow’s coach debrief, but Yun Qi favored solo sessions. They let him laser in on his support plays for any cracks.

The coach’s focus stayed glued to the core carry, skimping on support pointers. Firsthand micro review had become Yun Qi’s ingrained ritual.

Chat buzzed with tourney talk. SK was the night’s inferno, spawning a frenzy of threads.

[SK winning means they clash with KRO next, right? Terrifying.]

[KRO’s on fire this year, record’s pristine. SK stan forever, but finals feel dicey]

[Eidis sitting this one out?]

The teams being discussed in the bullet screen chat were SK’s biggest rivals—the squad that had pushed into the EU Server and even produced the Server #1 Jungler.

[Whatever, I’m buying SK to win this year!]

[Bro, you look so damn tasty…]

[Those hands are gorgeous.]

[Damn, this guy’s handsome as hell—fresh material for tonight.]

[You guys are disgusting. Don’t pollute my baby’s eyes. I hope Qibao doesn’t see this.]

[Qiqi, can you restrict the streaming room? Some people are so vile, posting that crap. Qiqi’s so pure, they’ll corrupt him.]

[Agreed, clear screen————]

[Private Message: 100k to touch your feet.]

This glaring message popped up at the top of the stream interface, uncovered by the clear screen command. Yun Qi spotted it right away. He gave a light chuckle to the camera and said, “Nameless Grass, make sure to appeal your account.”

He tapped the report button without a second thought.

Mai Lang’s platform enforced strict management and cracked down hard on violations. One wrong word could get your account banned outright. Their mid laner and jungler had racked up multiple warnings for profanity and even lost accounts once or twice, so they’d switched to more lenient streaming apps.

Yun Qi was the only one still loyal to this entry-level platform. Reports on violations rarely succeeded elsewhere, with zero repercussions for the offenders. Mai Lang offered the best shield for “looks-based streamers” like him.

Once reported, Nameless Grass flew into a rage, firing off a string of insults from backstage:

[Gave you face, huh?]

[Don’t you know how a nobody like you even got into SK?]

[A soft support daring to mouth off to me?]

[Looks like a damn sissy. Don’t embarrass real men.]

[All you do is play trash heroes like Snow Rabbit Sakura. What kind of skill is that, bro? Don’t flatter yourself thinking I actually care. Just wait till you’re dumped on the Exchange—I’ll buy you up and fuck you every day.]

The barrage ended with a flood of graphic dick pics. Yun Qi took one look and knew the guy was ditching the account.

The fans had no clue what had gone down. They hadn’t picked up on anything off in Yun Qi’s expression either and kept cheering for SK’s upcoming match. Yun Qi thanked them a few times before diving back into his game review.

Once the stream wrapped, Yun Qi powered down his computer. He sat there at the desk for a moment before standing. That’s when he noticed the figure outside his door. Lang Xian stepped inside.

Yun Qi halted and met his gaze.

Lang Xian gave him a once-over, glanced at the computer behind him, and asked, “Just logged off?”

Yun Qi nodded.

“You played matches all day, came back, and instead of resting, you go live?” Lang Xian said.

“The fans wanted to see me.” Yun Qi’s reply was blunt and unadorned. Within SK, his popularity overshadowed everyone else’s. He had a monopoly on streaming love. The current wave of victory hype might boost the others’ views a bit, but once it faded, no one could touch his traffic.

He was the only one with a fixed streaming schedule. The rest of the pros had to grind training nonstop and beg for permission if they wanted to go live.

Lang Xian had known he was streaming, so he’d stayed away. Now, deep into the night with both of them free, he finally broached the real topic. “Xue Yan told me your old problem’s acting up again.”

Yun Qi knew exactly why he’d come. He murmured, “It’s fine now.”

“He doesn’t know the full story, so… you’re craving it bad right now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want anything,” Yun Qi cut him off swiftly. “I’m good, Captain. It’s late—I’m heading back.”

He took two steps away, but a displeased voice rang out behind him. “Yun Qi.”

He stopped. Footsteps drew closer until a pair of hands slid around his waist from the sides. Lang Xian dipped his head, burying it against Yun Qi’s slender shoulder. His breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of his ear. “I know you’re hurting. I can help you anytime.”

Yun Qi felt every pore on his body flare open. A tingling itch bloomed behind his ear. He was cradled gently in those warm arms, his nerves screaming for a brief, wild moment. But he forced his voice to stay even. “Captain Lang, it’s impossible between us.”

Lang Xian pressed on. “What, only if I win nationals will you give me the time of day?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

Yun Qi pulled free from the embrace and turned back with a gentle smile. “Even if you snag the world championship, I wouldn’t be interested.”

His gaze dropped, listless. “Sorry. Good night.”

Lang Xian watched him head upstairs. The lingering warmth on his fingertips felt like an illusion. Greed darkened his eyes, as if he could bore right through that slim back with his stare alone.

Yun Qi returned to his room and set his phone down on the table. He hadn’t turned it on all day, and now it was buried under a deluge of miscellaneous messages and notifications that could drown a person.

[Mom: Qi Qi, you won the match—great job! Mom’s so proud of you.]

[Brother: Qi Qi, when are you on break? Come home for dinner. Your sister-in-law’s back too.]

[Tang Feng: Congrats in advance to the national champion support!]

[Yun Qi: We haven’t actually won the championship yet.]

After replying to the messages, Yun Qi sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window into the night. The moment he closed his eyes, Lang Xian’s touch flooded his mind, reigniting the restlessness churning deep inside him. It wasn’t long before he rose and rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out a small pill bottle. He tipped out a white tablet and swallowed it dry, with no water to help it down.

Online, he was the picture of ethereal detachment, untouched by mortal concerns. That was the persona the manager had crafted for him—a face that seemed devoid of desire, paired with an obedient demeanor designed to reel in traffic and spark juicy rumors. That was his role in SK. That was his commercial value.

He had to convince his fans that he was above the vulgar fray, sacred and inviolable, a flawless jade untouched by the world. Even if it rang hollow to him, he had to fool himself into believing it first; only then would others buy in, open their wallets, and lose their minds over him.

But those fans who cradled him like a treasure, who leaped to his defense—who among them could know that in private, he battled such a severe case of Intimacy Starvation Syndrome? He yearned for touch, for embraces, for kisses, and for even more earthly pleasures. He was rotten to the core.

“Buzz buzz.”

Two subscription alerts lit up his phone.

One: #SKWins#

Two: #EidisReturnsHome#

That familiar name hit him like a knockout punch, and he surrendered in an instant. The pent-up ache he’d bottled up all day burst forth like a breached dam. A single face burned into his mind, and with no defenses left, he yielded to his basest urges.

Yun Qi stared at the notification on his screen, the bitter truth settling in: he was nothing more than a dark, lust-crazed vermin cloaked in a veneer of perfection.

“Eidis…” The name escaped him in a soft pant, his voice a small beast’s whimper spilling into the quiet night. In his own grasp, he unfurled; in the grip of his fantasies, he found release.

This was his true face, the one hidden from the cameras—too sordid for even him to stomach or embrace.

Lang Xian was the only one on the team who knew his secret. That leverage gave the pursuer free rein to press his suit with wild abandon.

They hadn’t even started dating, and already his captain wanted to bed him. Lurking beneath the so-called “help” was a web of sordid, contemptible schemes.

Everyone in SK resented him. Everyone wanted him brought low—some wore it on their sleeves, others nursed it in silence.

Yun Qi snatched up a couple of tissues and settled against the headboard to clean himself up. Gradually, his thoughts cooled and steadied.

By then, the night had grown deep.